It’s been a great year for poetry – mine and all the other great poets that I know. Thank you to everyone who has published mine! The highlight for me was having my poem Red Kite displayed on a summer poetry trail at the wonderful Painshill Park Landscape Gardens in Surrey. And currently I have several poems on a wonderful Fairy Door Trail at Painshill, in collaboration with Nia Broomhall, the Poet in Residence. But back to Christmas. It’s Christmas Eve and here is a penultimate advent poem. Plus one for Christmas Day incase I forget!

GREAT BALLS OF MISTLETOE

Mistletoe grows

on trees such as lime.

It’s been linked with Christmas

for a very long time.

***

You can hold up a bunch

to give someone a kiss.

But sometimes, I think,

I’ll give that a miss!

***

I hear that it grows

where birds leave their poo.

And that ‘Mistle’ means dung.

How does that sound to you?

***

‘Toe’ means the twig,

and so, it is clear:

‘Dung on a Twig’

is the meaning, I fear!

xxx

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WHEN I WOKE UP ONE CHRISTMAS DAY

I woke to a morning

of frosty air tingling.

***

I woke to a sky

of robin’s egg blue.

***

I woke to a choir

of winter birds singing.

***

i woke to a day

all sparkling and new.

***

I woke to a steam

of breath in the air.

***

I woke to a sprinkle of snow

on the ground.

***

I woke to see trees

skeletal and bare.

***

I woke with excitement

buzzing around.

***

I woke to the crackle

of Christmas wrapping.

***

I woke to see gifts

at the end of my bed.

***

I woke to know Santa

hadn’t been napping.

***

I woke with the joy

he’d delivered instead

***

things I had wished for,

in the letter I’d sent.

***

Thank you, Santa,

I’m Christmas content.

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HAPPY CHRISTMAS!